Heartbreaker
by ZBBZL
Summary: Bellamy and his team break couples up for a living. He might get his heart broken this time. Modern AU based on the movie Heartbreaker.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : _Heartbreaker_  
 **Setting** : modern day AU, based on the French movie _L'Arnacoeur_ (Heartbreaker).

 **A/N** : I mentioned this idea to labonsoirfemme a month ago and asked her to tell me to stop starting new fics all the time, to which she replied "YAS PERFECT WRITE IT." I aim to please. If you're interested in seeing the movie, I do believe it's been dubbed in English, or you might find a version with subtitles. By all means, hope you enjoy reading this!

* * *

"Bell. We've got a problem."

Bellamy frowned at his sister's alarmed tone. Looking up, he found Octavia standing at the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest and with that look in her eyes that meant nothing good. "What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

Octavia sighed before taking a seat at his desk. "We spent a lot more than we'd originally planned on this one. _A lot_ more," she insisted. "And I've done the math, we've been doing that a lot lately. Last month it was that girl you almost married in Vegas -"

"I didn't almost marry her, O," Bellamy interrupted her. "She was hot, that's true, and if I had met her under different circumstances, I'm not saying I wouldn't have...that's not the point. We'll just work under a stricter budget, we've done it before."

Octavia glared at him. "You say that all the time, and then you go and privatize the Plaza. We _can't_ keep doing that. We can't afford it. We're spending more than we earn."

Bellamy closed his eyes and pinched the ridge of his nose. "I've got it under control, O, I swear. I'll find us more contracts."

"Where?" Octavia snapped. "You're gonna go around and ask people if they know some woman who's unhappy but doesn't know it so you can charm her? That's your plan? Because if it is, it's a _stupid_ plan and I'm not gonna stick around to -"

Tears started spilling on her cheeks, and Bellamy was up on his feet and kneeling at her side in a heartbeat. "Hey, hey, O, what's going on?" he asked, worry edging in his voice. "Don't get upset, I swear I'll fix it, okay? I swear. Don't -"

"You'd better," Octavia sniffed, "because I'm not planning on bringing my baby to visit you when you live under a bridge."

Bellamy blinked, once, twice, before he felt his mouth stretching into a grin. "You're pregnant?" he said, beaming. "I'm gonna be an uncle?"

Octavia laughed, a little watery thing as she rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna be a mother, so yes, by extension you're gonna be an uncle, you self-centered jerk."

She gave him a soft smile, and he reached out to wipe her tears with his thumb. "No more stupid, expensive, extravagant expense. I promise. And I'm going to the bank tomorrow to open an account for my future niece or my future nephew."

Octavia cocked an eyebrow at him and gave his shoulder a punch. "Yeah, right. Before you do that, you should probably go practice on that winning smile because it's the only weapon you'll use for a while. Got it?"

Bellamy nodded. He was too happy for his baby sister to argue with her.

* * *

Over the years, Bellamy had realized that there were three different types of women when it came to relationships: the first category was happy women; the second, women who were unhappy but owned up to it or didn't care; and the third was women who were not knowingly unhappy.

The latter were Bellamy's stock-in-trade.

Everybody knew one of these women; whether they be sister, daughter, or friend, women who were unhappy were everywhere, and Bellamy offered his services to help them open their eyes. Concerned relatives or friends came to them - he and Octavia and her husband Lincoln - and while Octavia and Lincoln investigated about the couple to find out what was wrong (they never broke couples where the woman was happy), Bellamy charmed his way in the woman's life.

They had one goal: breaking up the couples, not the women's hearts. Bellamy seduced them, showed them that they deserved better than what they had, until they left their relationships to seek someone who could make them truly happy. Bellamy had this one line he used on all the girls, about how his heart had been broken before and that he could never fall in love again but that _she_ deserved the world, and it worked every single time.

Harper had hugged him fiercely, whispering her thanks in his ear; Roma had kissed him full on the mouth; Lexa had even invited him to her wedding with Costia. Helping Lexa realize she'd been in love with her best friend and that it was the reason why she was so unhappy with her boyfriend was one of Bellamy's favorite thing about his job. Clients were often curious or worried about his methods, but Bellamy only used seduction to help; and sure, he kissed a lot of girls, but he never went further than that. He was a professional.

Showing these women they were unhappy was no easy task, though. That was something else Bellamy had understood with time; nobody was ready to admit they weren't happy, because settling into a routine with someone was so much easier and less scary than to face the unknown. Many a woman he helped was caught up in a relationship where she didn't know how to say no to a marriage proposal coming from a man she'd known and been with for so long, despite no longer feeling a spark. He'd pretended to be a wedding planner, once, and he'd spent three months listening to Maya complaining about how uninterested her fiancé was in their wedding, until progressively she went from being annoyed to angry, and ultimately called off the wedding. She was now dating this sweet boy who looked at her like she was the sun, and Bellamy was happy for her.

He was happy for all of them, really; but helping these women had a cost. It was like being an undercover agent, but without the prestige or the unlimited funding, and Bellamy was aware that lately he'd gone a little overboard. With Octavia and Lincoln having a baby on the way, he reckoned it was about time to go back to the basics.

He'd never needed to show off to win a girl over, so there was no reason why he'd need to for work.

* * *

Their salvation came along when Abigail Griffin knocked on their door.

She seemed so out of place in their office, with a row of white pearls around her neck and dressed in an elegant dress that probably cost more than their rent. Bellamy knew who she was, of course; Abigail Griffin, Chief of Surgery at Ark Medical, and running her second mandate as Councilwoman. Everybody in Ark knew her.

He remembered meeting her years ago under other circumstances, though, when his mother died in a car accident and she was the surgeon who tried, but failed, to save her. But the woman showed no sign of recognizing him, so Bellamy just sat there and let Octavia handle her like she did with all the clients.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Griffin, please," Octavia invited her in, sitting at Bellamy's desk. "How can we help you?"

Lincoln went to the kitchen to make some tea, and Bellamy smiled at the woman with no visible success as she eyed him for a moment before turning her attention back to Octavia. "I heard about what you did for Maya Vie," she started slowly, her fingers twined together on her lap. "I've met her father through work quite a lot over the years, we've become friends. And he told me about how happy he was to see his daughter with a boy who can truly make her smile. And that's what I want for my daughter."

Octavia nodded her head. "Of course. But you have to understand that we don't just break people up for no reason. We help women see their full potential and find out what they truly want, but we don't do that with just anyone," she explained. "What can you tell us about your daughter's relationship?"

"Clarke thinks she's happy, but she's not," Abigail replied, the smallest frown creasing her brow. "I can see it."

"Yeah, well, we're gonna need a little more info than that," Bellamy couldn't stop himself from saying. Octavia elbowed him hard under the table, but he went on. "Look, Mrs. Griffin, we've seen a lot of disapproving parents, but that's not a good reason enough to break people up. We _need_ to know more."

Abigail glared at him. "And what if I don't want to share more?"

Bellamy held her gaze, unwavering and just as stern. "Then we can't possibly help you. I'm sorry."

Octavia's eyes moved from her brother's stubborn features to their potentially lost client. "What my partner is trying to say is that we do need to know a little more so we can elaborate the best strategy to help your daughter," she said smoothly. "Knowing about her, what she's like and what she likes, would really help us. It'd help us see why you think her significant other is unfit for her."

Bellamy refused to look away; Abigail pressed her lips in a thin line before she turned to Octavia again. "She's bored. Her fiancé is a nice boy, but he's not what she needs. And whenever I try to bring the subject up, we end up fighting."

"No one likes to hear their mother tell them they're making a mistake," Bellamy shrugged. Octavia pinched his side, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to let a sound out. "You said they were engaged," he continued carefully, "When is the wedding?"

"On the twenty-fifth."

"That's in _ten_ _days_ ," Bellamy scoffed. "I'm sorry, but that's way too short. We can't help you."

"Bell -" Octavia started. Bellamy opened his mouth to argue, and she pinched him again. "Will you excuse us?" she said to Abigail, before she dragged her brother in the corridor.

Lincoln was standing there, a tray with three cups of tea in hands. "It sounded intense in there, I didn't want to..." he shrugged.

"Bellamy was being an _idiot_ ," Octavia snarled, punching him in the shoulder again.

"I said no," Bellamy repeated. "Look, O, I've never worked under such a tight schedule. Not for a wedding. I can't do it."

"You haven't even tried!"

"And what happens if I try, and fail, huh?" Bellamy asked her. "We'll need to refund that woman, and we'll go back to square one. And we will have wasted ten days on this one when we could have worked on another case."

The siblings were glaring at each other, Octavia's cheeks getting red with her annoyance. Lincoln spotted the familiar telltale, and squeezed her shoulder. "Bellamy's right, Octavia. We can't really afford to spend time and money on a hopeless case."

"Money's not an issue when it comes to my daughter's happiness, you know," they heard a voice say behind them, and the three of them turned to see Abigail standing at the doorframe. "I'll pay for all your expense. Just tell me how much you need to do this and I'll give it to you. Now, can we please sit down and talk like civilized people instead of hiding in the corridor?"

Octavia lifted her chin up defiantly, waiting for Bellamy to decide if he was in or out.

* * *

"This guy is perfect, I'd marry him in a heartbeat," Octavia huffed, blowing at a lost tendril falling before her eyes. Lincoln groaned, and she gave him a sweet smile. "If I didn't have you, babe," she said as she pecked his lips. "You know I love you."

"Can we please focus on this guy's _flaws_?" Bellamy chided them, embellishing a gag at their antics. Sometimes it was really hard to work with the two of them; they were sickeningly cute, even more so now that Octavia was pregnant. Really, Bellamy should have realized it before she even told him.

"He doesn't have any," Octavia shrugged. "This is Wells Jaha we're talking about. He's a humanitarian, giving out money for tons of charities. He visited the orphanage last week and spent the entire day with the kids. He's a sweetheart."

"Not helping, O."

"This website I'm on is saying that despite his young age, people would be ready to vote for him against his own father if he ran for City Hall," Lincoln added.

Bellamy felt like throwing himself in front of a bus. "Do you even know what the word flaw means?" he sighed. "Okay, fine, Golden Boy is perfect. Tell me about the bride-to-be."

Lincoln cleared his throat before he started to read his file. "Clarke Griffin, twenty-five, owner of a very classy art gallery uptown. She paints and draws, and from what I'm seeing here, she's really good. She's not a socialite like her fiancé is, but she does attend luncheons and galas with her mother and step-father who are both part of the City Council." He paused, skimming through the press articles about the Griffin heiress. "Pre-med in Mount Weather, she got accepted into literally every med school in the country. She used to date Jaha in high school, and they reunited a couple years ago. Been engaged for six months, perfect bliss and all."

"He writes her love letters," Octavia added. " _Love letters_. He's an even bigger dork than you are, Bell," she teased her brother.

Bellamy ignored her. "I don't like the sound of this. These people are happy, for God's sake. This is _not_ what we do."

Octavia bit her bottom lip, unsure of what to say. She shared her brother's beliefs - the ones upon which they'd funded their business - but what harm could they do, really? If the lovebirds were so in love, Bellamy would just waste his energy for nothing, and Abigail Griffin would still pay them. The odds were in their favor for once.

Bellamy was quiet for a moment, ruffling his hand in his hair as he recited the facts in his head. "How does a princess like Clarke Griffin, Ark's sweetheart, suddenly drop med school to become an artist?" he finally asked.

"Princess?" Octavia chuckled. "I don't know. I didn't find anything about that."

"Actually, there's a whole year of her life missing," Lincoln said. Bellamy's brow furrowed in a frown, and his brother-in-law added, "After she graduated, and before she started dating Jaha again. I don't know what she did during that year. One moment she was soon-to-be Dr. Griffin and the next she opened her gallery."

Bellamy clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice work. _That's_ what we need to find out. You keep looking, and I'll go see the princess."

Octavia raised an eyebrow at him. "And what's your plan?" she asked, a little skeptic.

Bellamy just pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair before taking off.

* * *

His first thought upon seeing Clarke Griffin was that she _wasn't_ what he expected.

She looked perfectly _normal_ , for someone who'd grown up in a house with maids and a Chinese nanny, attended the best schools, and would soon call the Mayor her father-in-law. She didn't look anything like her mother, neither in her demeanor nor her appearance; she seemed nice and approachable in a way rich people never were.

She was also utterly _gorgeous_.

A little bell rang as he opened the door to the gallery, and she looked up at him from a portfolio she seemed to be studying. "Oh, hi," she said friendly.

"Hi, uh, Miss Griffin? This might sound weird to you, but -"

"You might not want to start a conversation with _this might sound weird_ , you know," she laughed. She closed the portfolio, and circled around the front counter to face him. "How about you start again?" she suggested with a smile.

Bellamy resisted the urge to roll his eyes - he was used to Octavia sassing him all the time. "Sorry, miss. My name's Bellamy Blake, and your mother hired me to protect you."

He felt a little insulted when he saw her eyes widen. " _You_ 're a bodyguard?" Clarke asked as her eyes roamed over him, head to toe. "You don't look like a bodyguard."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," he shrugged, casual, and with a confidence that made her lips twitch up a little. "But it's part of a trick to lull people into a false sense of safety."

Clarke chuckled. "You won't mind if I call my mother to check your story, right?" she asked, a little cheeky as she leaned her arm against the counter. "You wouldn't be the first to try."

Bellamy couldn't help it; he laughed. "You've got a lot of guys coming up to you pretending your mother hired them to be your bodyguard?" he teased.

"All the time," Clarke gave him a shrug, and lifted her phone to her ear. She kept grinning at him as he could hear the call pending, until it finally picked up. "Hey, mom. Yeah, I'm good. Listen, there's a guy named Bellamy Blake who just came up to me and told me he was here to protect me at your demand, which I _can't_ possibly believe because you would _never_ do such a thing without asking me first, _right_?"

Bellamy just stood there, hoping that Abigail Griffin wouldn't ruin this. He probably should have mentioned his plan with her beforehand, but that would have required him to elaborate a plan instead of just taking off and coming up with one as he drove to Clarke's gallery. Besides, Bellamy worked better alone. Octavia and Lincoln did all the research, and sometimes they did a bit of undercover work when he needed them to push a girl into his arms, but Bellamy mostly called the shots. Posing as Clarke's bodyguard would gain him close and constant access to her; she was part of Ark's elite, about to marry the Mayor's son, and Thelonius Jaha wasn't the most popular mayor in the history - it sounded legit.

He couldn't hear what Abigail Griffin was saying, but after a minute Clarke handed him her phone. "She's probably going to fire you. I don't think you're supposed to introduce yourself to people."

God, that girl was _twelve_ , for real, Bellamy thought as he took her phone. "Mrs. Griffin?"

" _I must admit that was a clever idea_ ," Abigail said over the phone. " _Except for the fact that Clarke hates it when I interfere in her life. She probably hates you now_."

"I'm kinda used to it, ma'am."

" _Listen, Clarke's staying in the hotel where the wedding is taking place, to supervise the last preparations. I can arrange for you to have the room adjoining hers. Wells is away for one of his charities and he'll only be back three days before the wedding_."

"That won't be a problem."

" _Good. Now would you please pass me my daughter again?"_

Bellamy gave Clarke her phone back, and this time she went to what seemed to be her office to take the call. Bellamy could feel it wasn't going to be that easy, but spying on her wouldn't do much good. He took a stroll around the gallery instead, and had to agree with Lincoln's appreciative assessment of Clarke's talent. She exhibited both her paintings and local artists, but she had no reason to envy them. Bellamy wasn't an expert about art, but he loved history and museums and he'd never seen someone use colors in such a poignant way. There was a certain delicacy in her pastel, but strength, too; it was odd in a good way, if that made any sense.

His thoughts about art and Clarke and rich girls with unexpected skills were interrupted by Clarke grabbing his elbow and turning him around. "Okay," she started, hands on her hips. "Whatever my mom's paying you, I'll pay you double so you leave me alone. We have a deal?"

Bellamy sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not like I'm gonna follow you to the bathroom when you pee. You won't even notice I'm there."

She closed her eyes briefly, rubbing at her temple. "Look, I don't need protection, okay? I took karate classes for years as a kid, I can handle myself. My mom's just getting paranoid because that's what she does."

"Better be safe than sorry," Bellamy argued.

"Oh my God," Clarke let out with a heavy sigh. "Just name your price."

He shook his head. "I was hired for a job, I fully intend to do it. And you might think your mother is paranoid, but love and politics never go well together."

"Yeah, because I'm marrying the mayor's son who has _zero_ interest in politics. So _of course_ someone's gonna shoot me for it," she deadpanned.

"Or because forty-eight percent of Ark didn't vote for Thelonius Jaha and crazy people are everywhere," Bellamy countered. "You do realize some people believe your wedding is just a political move on his part to make himself look better and more human three months before the next elections, right?"

Clarke glared at him. It was too late to win her over, anyway, so angering her it was. But just as quickly as her face had turned dark, her features softened, and there was a gleam in her eye Bellamy couldn't quite define. "You seem so interested in my wedding, Bellamy," she said his name sweetly, like a promise. "You like that, don't you?" she asked, lifting a single finger to trace his chest.

Bellamy gulped. "What are you doing?" he asked as he pulled away.

"Oh, come on," Clarke cooed, smiling at him. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it. Isn't that supposed to be a guy fantasy, anyway? Screwing some bride-to-be just before her wedding? I've seen it in two movies at least. We can do it in the office. A nice farewell before you leave me alone." She bit on her lip, in that falsely shy, seductive way Bellamy had seen in _all_ the movies and real-life, too, before she tiptoed just enough to murmur in his ear, "I'm not wearing any underwear, you'll just have to hike up my dress."

Bellamy had to give it to her, she was _good_. And she was hot and beautiful, which was a very dangerous combination. He'd never met anyone who could beat him up at his own game, though. "Fine, thirty thousand," he finally relented as he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. "Twenty for ten days, and another ten for wrongful termination of the contract."

Clarke beamed at him, as if she knew all along that embarrassing him would work, or that he'd prefer money over sex - which sounded legitimate, too. "See, I knew you could be reasonable. I'll write you a check."

She did, and slipped it in his front pocket, gently patting the spot there. "Let me at least drive you home," he offered. "I noticed there was no car in the lane."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Just go save your next damsel in distress. I'll be fine. Now, go, I need to finish up some stuff before closing up and going to my mom's to yell at her properly."

She pushed him around, and Bellamy had no choice but letting her. They were at the door when he turned to her though, and said, "Sorry for the inconvenience, miss. And congratulations for your wedding."

She smiled. "Thank you."

She watched him leave, waiting at the door until he was in his car, before going back inside. Bellamy drove off, and parked just a little further, but still close enough to see the front door. Grabbing his phone, he speed-dialed for Lincoln. "Hey, Linc? Can you be here in ten minutes?"

 _"Did she crack your ribs? I've just read she took karate lessons for ten years."_

"Very funny," Bellamy snorted. "I need you to assault her so I can be a hero."

There was silence, and then an angry Octavia answered. " _Are you asking my husband to assault a woman? Is this something I've just actually heard you saying?_ " she scolded him. " _Have you gone out of your mind?_ "

"Jesus, O, it's not like I asked him to strangle her, calm the fuck down -"

 _"Watch your language around my child, you idiot."_

Bellamy rolled his eyes. _Octavia_ had the biggest potty mouth ever. "Listen, I just need Lincoln to steal her purse or something. I tried to pose as her bodyguard but she says she can handle herself."

" _You, a bodyguard?"_

"You want to send your perfect eight-pack husband in and watch him flirt and seduce some rich, hot, girl, maybe?" Bellamy taunted his sister. Lincoln sure fitted the job better than he did, with his impressive body, despite being an all around giant ball of fluff who would never hurt anybody unless they hurt Octavia. "Because we could totally try that one out. Women love abs. And guys that go with them. Really, I don't care, let's do that."

" _You do realize you're on speaker and I can hear this ridiculous argument, right?"_ Lincoln said. " _I'll be there in ten_."

And ten minutes later, Lincoln slipped into the passenger seat. "Aren't you supposed to charm her, man?" he asked.

"Charm doesn't work with stubborn girls like her. Antagonizing her is the best way," Bellamy said expertly.

Lincoln cocked an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. "That's basic kindergarten psychology."

"It works."

"But it's stupid. What are you gonna do, pull at her pigtails and put sand in her underwear?"

Bellamy stared at him with wild eyes. "What kind of kindergarten kid _were_ you?" he asked, before mumbling, " _sand_ in her underwear, Jesus, what's wrong with you?"

Lincoln just stared back at him. "I'm just saying, it's stupid."

"It still works," Bellamy shrugged. After all, it wasn't like he'd been doing this for years now. "She's closing in ten. You go and grab her purse and make a run for it, I'm the nice bodyguard who stayed to watch over her just in case, I run after you and get the purse back. I'm a hero, she takes me back, and everything's perfect. Okay?"

Lincoln let out a rich laugh. "You sound more like a stalker than a nice bodyguard, you know."

Bellamy would have punched him, if Lincoln wasn't all muscle. "Whatever. Just go."

His brother-in-law rolled his eyes, before covering his face with a hood that looked like one of Octavia's tights - they really needed to get a real hood, if the whole thief/hero thing became a classic. Bellamy watched him as he went to hide, and waited.

Ten minutes later Clarke left the gallery, and was busy locking the door when Lincoln bumped into her and grabbed for her purse. He was too fast for her to react, and Bellamy barely had time to catch her eyes widening again when he jumped out of the car and made a run after Lincoln. He was waiting for him down the block, laughing. "Undercover work is fun."

"Yeah, don't get used to it. Octavia will kill me if I ask you to help too often," Bellamy replied. "Gimme the purse now."

Lincoln shook his head. "We've got to make it look real first," he said, with a hint of amusement in his tone. "That woman's not an idiot. If you don't look a little roughened up, she won't believe it."

Bellamy stiffened. Lincoln's fist was twice bigger than his, and he did mixed martial arts for _fun_. "Fine," he finally sighed, "but don't touch the -" He didn't finish that sentence, because Lincoln punched him in the face, _hard_ , his fist colliding with his upper cheek and bumping his nose. "Oh my God, I think you broke my nose."

"I hardly touched it," Lincoln laughed, and patted him on the back. "Come on, what's a little bruise?"

Bellamy would have glared at him, if the very thought didn't make his head spin.

* * *

When he made his way back to the gallery, Clarke was sitting on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped around herself. She was a badass, Bellamy could feel it, but the suddenness of the attack had shocked her. She leaped to her feet when she saw him. "Oh my God, you're bleeding," Clarke whispered, lifting a hand to his swollen cheek.

Bellamy suppressed the urge to flinch. He'd seen worse, true, but Lincoln had gotten a little _too much_ in character. "It's okay," he shrugged. "I got your purse back," he tried to smile.

Clarke frowned. "I don't care about my purse," she shook her head, and led him inside by the sleeve of his jacket. "Sit," she ordered softly. "I need to take a better look, you might need stitches."

"You're a doctor now?" Bellamy chuckled, but obediently sat on a chair as Clarke rummaged through a drawer in her back office.

She emerged back with a first-aid kit. "My mom's a trauma surgeon. I learned how to make stitches when I was ten." She didn't mention being a pre-med, so Bellamy didn't, either. He let her clean him up - there _was_ blood dripping down his cheek - and tip his chin around to take a better look. "It's not too bad," she finally said, clinical, "but you'll be sore for a few days. I don't have an icepack here, but you could use one. And painkillers."

He shook his head, and winced. "I'm fine," he said, and tried to stand up but Clarke held him down with her hand on his shoulder. "Really, miss Griffin, I'm fine."

She sighed, and he felt it tickle his face. "Don't call me miss," she said. "You got beaten up for me. You should probably call me Clarke by now."

She gave him a smile, and he mirrored her. "I'm fine, Clarke. _Really_."

She looked like she wanted to argue that his _face_ didn't agree with that statement, but she just worried her lip between her teeth, looking pensive for a minute. "Thank you, Bellamy," she finally murmured, and then dug her fingers in his front pocket to retrieve the check she'd made. "I don't think you'll need that," she said, before tearing it in pieces and throwing it in a trash bin.

Bellamy tried very hard not to grin.

* * *

 _to be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

Growing up, the Polis was the kind of place Bellamy created stories of dragons and princesses about for Octavia. It wasn't such a huge stretch from the truth, because it was an old manor that a rich entrepreneur had bought over thirty years prior and turned into a hotel. It mostly hosted venues and conventions, foreign diplomats, and Ark's fanciest events - _including_ the Jaha-Griffin wedding.

Bellamy's room was bigger than his whole _apartment_.

It didn't take him long to settle in; he always had a go-bag in his car, but Octavia would bring him his things later as she and Lincoln came around to help install their surveillance kit. It was a good thing that he had a room adjoined to Clarke's and that the princess bride would spend most of her days tasting cake or choosing flowers so they had plenty of time to put cameras in her room and snoop around.

He knocked politely at the passage door between their two rooms, and waited a minute before he heard her light steps nearing. Clarke appeared, having changed into a much fancier dress, her previously messy bun turned into an elaborated crown of braids with delicate curls framing her face. "Bellamy?" she spoke his name in surprise.

He gave her a sheepish smile. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be staying in this room, so if you need anything, or you're going somewhere, you know where to find me."

She let out a little breathy chuckle. "Well, I'm having dinner with my mother and step-father in the hotel restaurant, so I should be fine," Clarke said with a nod of her head, and the corner of her mouth twitched up in a kind smile. "You can have the night off. You kinda _deserve_ it."

"That's really nice of you, miss -"

"I told you to call me Clarke," she interrupted him.

"Okay, _Clarke_ ," he repeated, tasting her name on his tongue, "that's really nice, but this isn't what I'm here for. I'll escort you to the restaurant, and then I'll walk you back to your room when you're done. Or wherever you want to go after that."

"Even the bathroom? I thought you drew the line there," she teased him.

Bellamy couldn't figure what game she was playing; just a couple of hours ago she'd tried to bribe him, then propositioned him for sex, and now she was all lovely and adorable. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Bellamy was usually very good at reading people, but he couldn't decide whether Clarke Griffin was naturally charming or if she was trying to play him to get rid of him again. The uncertainty he felt was both unfamiliar and confusing.

No matter how lovely she could be, it was too early to try and seduce her though, so Bellamy remained as professional as he could; just the right touch of charming and funny to draw a smile, but not enough to pass as flirty. "You're not planning on making this harder than it has to be now, are you?"

"Nuh-uh," she leaned her head and shoulder against the doorframe, and blinked her lashes innocently in that classic girl trick Octavia had used all throughout high school when he caught her trying to sneak out or something - Bellamy himself had fallen for it for years when he was younger.

"Good," Bellamy replied with a nod of his head. "And since we're talking about it, it might also be a good idea if we came up with some sort of signal."

Clarke's brow creased a little. "A signal?"

"Yes. Something you can scream or text me if you're in danger or something, so I know you need me."

One of her eyebrows arched in confusion. "Isn't your _name_ a good enough signal?"

Bellamy curled the fingers of one hand into a fist; thinking of a hot girl screaming his name was _not_ a good idea. "Look, signals work," he said confidently. He'd seen that in a movie once. "Just find one you'll remember easily."

"Okay, then," Clarke shrugged, and stepped back into her room to grab her shoes. Bellamy assumed it was okay to follow her, and grabbed his suit jacket as he did. He stood there, watching her as she finished getting ready. "Purse."

Bellamy looked around, trying to find it for her, and Clarke laughed. It took him a couple seconds too long to get it. " _Purse_? That's your signal?" he frowned.

"You said I had to pick one I'd remember easily," she grinned in the mirror, applying her lipstick, "how could I forget that one?"

"Fair enough," Bellamy conceded with a small smile.

It took Clarke another ten minutes to be ready, and Bellamy, despite being used to girls taking forever with a teenage Octavia who never left the bathroom under forty-five minutes in the morning, had to resist the urge to sigh heavily. Clarke was just having dinner with her family, after all; did rich people really have to look like movie stars for that? The Blake family tradition went more along the lines of homemade lasagna and ice-cream in front of a movie every Sunday; Bellamy washed the dishes, Lincoln dried them, and Octavia picked the movie and made them sit through the cheesiest rom-com ever. It didn't sound like much, but it was Bellamy's favorite time of the week.

Finally Clarke was ready, and they made their way to the restaurant two floors below in companionable silence. She kept glancing at his face though, guilt evident on her features, and Bellamy felt bad for making her worry when it had been nothing but a scheme - a _stupid_ one, true, but he hadn't been able to come up with a better one at the time. "I'm fine, you know," he said, casual but soft. "I've got a little sister, I've seen worse."

"Your sister ever punched you in the face?"

Bellamy chuckled. "Yeah, no, not exactly. But a few punches were thrown around when she was fifteen or sixteen and boys talked to her the wrong way."

That made Clarke smile. "Ah, so you're that kind of guy, huh?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "That's what brothers do."

"Yeah," she hummed absently, almost pensive, and fell silent again.

They had reached the restaurant anyway, and Bellamy could spot Clarke's mother with a man that had to be her step-father. He'd seen Marcus Kane on television, and though he didn't agree with his politics most of the time, the man wasn't half bad and didn't come from money, which was something Bellamy always appreciated about someone. His mother, Vera Kane, led the church Bellamy's mother used to take them to when they were kids, and lived in their neighborhood. Kane was probably the first person from there to become someone important.

Abigail opened her arms, and Bellamy saw hesitation flicker in Clarke's eyes for a second before she wrapped hers around her mother and hugged her; her annoyance at this whole bodyguard thing still lingered, but Bellamy doubted it was the only reason. After all, Abigail Griffin had told them she'd expressed her doubts about Clarke's relationship more than once; combined to that mysterious missing year Octavia and Lincoln were investigating about, Bellamy could feel there was something between the two women that ran more deeply.

Clarke then hugged her step-father, more affectionate, and then the three of them finally seemed to notice that Bellamy was there. "Oh, Marcus, dear," Abigail said, "this is Bellamy Blake, the young man I told you about. He's here to look after Clarke."

Marcus smiled at him and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, son," he said warmly, and his handshake was warmer than what Bellamy expected from a politician. "Do you mind if I ask you what happened to your face?" he asked kindly.

"It was a rough first day," Clarke answered for him, and Bellamy was thankful because he hadn't contacted her mother to let her know how their first meeting had progressed, and Bellamy didn't like to deal with wild cards. He'd never had to interact with his clients during a mission before, and it just added a ton of new unpredictable parameters.

Abigail reacted perfectly, however. She looked genuinely worried, and told him that although she wasn't happy he'd been hurt, _of course_ , she still felt better knowing somebody was there to protect Clarke. Her husband agreed, and Clarke only narrowed her eyes at her mother for a second before smiling and telling him again that he deserved to lie down and get an icepack for his cheek.

It was as good a moment as it could ever get to call Octavia and Lincoln, and after another handshake, a round of thanks, and Kane offering to send dinner to his room, Bellamy left the Griffin-Kane with the promise to come back to escort _miss Griffin_ later.

"Oh my God," Clarke sighed heavily, "you don't have to call me miss Griffin in front of my parents."

Her step-father smiled. "Come on, Clarke," he chided her softly, "you can't really blame the young man for being polite."

Clarke scowled, petulant, but probably much less than if her mother had been the one telling her, Bellamy reckoned. He watched as Kane cupped her shoulder and tilted his head a little, and Clarke's face softened.

Her mother caught his gaze, and with a final nod Bellamy left, once again feeling like there was something off about that family.

* * *

He shared his first impressions with Octavia while Lincoln installed their surveillance system. One of Octavia's childhood friends, Fox, worked at the hotel and had arranged for them to have a copy of Clarke's room key, and an easy access to the personnel's laundry in case they needed a maid outfit or something to blend in. Fox was one of the rare people who knew exactly what it was Bellamy and his family were doing - with Miller, Bellamy's best friend - and she was more than a little enthusiastic about helping.

"Abby didn't mention her husband knowing about you," Octavia replied after Bellamy told her about how unusually nice the man had seemed.

" _Abby_?" Bellamy echoed, surprised. "You call her Abby now?"

Octavia shrugged, like it was perfectly normal. "I called her earlier, to get more info about Clarke. You know, woman talk, mother to mother."

Bellamy wanted to point out that it was unwise to share private things like Octavia's pregnancy with a client, but even he could see the irony in saying that when he'd been the one using his real name with Clarke in the first place. And he'd told her about having a sister, something he never did either. In his line of business Bellamy had learned that the key to success was compartmentalizing. When he was with a woman, he wasn't Bellamy Blake, protective brother, history nerd; he was whatever they secretly wanted without ever admitting it out loud. But Clarke _wasn't_ just any woman; unlike all the others he'd helped, she didn't seem to _want_ to be helped. She was happy, and it threw Bellamy off his game. He'd have to try something else with her; _be_ someone else. "So what did you learn?" he asked his sister. "Do you know why Abby's so adamant about not wanting this wedding?"

Octavia shook her head. "It doesn't really make sense to me, either," she confessed. "She's been friends with Thelonius Jaha forever. They grew up in the same social circle, frequented the same schools. Same with their kids. Clarke is Wells' one true love, for real, and his father seems genuinely happy for him. I don't get why Abby isn't. She's the first to say how Wells is an all around great guy."

Bellamy sat down, rubbing a hand over his face and wincing at his still sore cheek; the icepack was freezing his brain more than it was helping with the pain. "They're not close. Clarke and her mother. Something happened, it's pretty obvious, and I don't want to get caught in some family feud just because Abby wants to control her daughter's life, you know?"

Octavia chewed on her lip, looking hesitant. "I don't think it's about that, Bell. I feel like - like she's just looking out for her daughter. She seemed sincere when she said she felt like Clarke was bored in her relationship."

She paused then, and Bellamy thought about it. Wells Jaha seemed perfect on paper, and he probably was in real life too, nice and kind and generous; Bellamy didn't really see how any of that qualified as _boring_. And if Clarke really was bored, she seemed strong-headed enough to leave him. "What else do you have? Anything useful?"

"Not really," Lincoln said, as he reemerged from Clarke's room. "All's set in there," he informed them. "And we still don't know much about Clarke, except that she likes snobby, smelly French cheese with coffee for breakfast, Dirty Dancing, and Taylor Swift."

"I made you a playlist," Octavia added, handing him her iPod. "If you really want to get points, tell her you adore how _1989_ is the reflection of Taylor embracing who she really is in a very empowering way, but that _Speak Now_ will always leave you with that kind of powerful ache you only read about."

"Come again?"

Octavia slapped his thigh. "Ugh, you're hopeless, Bell," she groaned. "Just tell her your favorite song is _Last Kiss_. It's super melancholic and it'll make her want to hug you."

Bellamy exchanged a worried look with Lincoln, who just laughed. "You should know better than to question Octavia," he said wisely, earning a beaming smile from his wife.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, and Octavia punched him in the shoulder. "Hey, quit it with the violence. I'm your baby's uncle, remember?" he tried, holding his hands up in defense. "Fine, you're the woman whisperer and Taylor expert, and I'll bow to you."

"Good," Octavia acquiesced, grinning smugly. "We should probably get going, I'm _famished_."

Bellamy's eyes widened. "You ate my dinner!" he exclaimed, gesturing at the empty tray room-service had brought earlier.

Behind Octavia, Lincoln was making big hand gestures that screamed _no you didn't_ , and when Octavia punched him again, Bellamy couldn't really say he hadn't had it coming.

It was another half hour before Clarke called him to tell him they were done with dinner. Bellamy was surprised she was playing along and taking this seriously; maybe this wouldn't be so hard, after all. When he reached the restaurant, it immediately became obvious that her sudden change of behavior had nothing to do with warming up to him, and everything to do with her mom pissing her off.

He caught her saying, " _You don't get to criticize my life and then offer to pay for my honeymoon, I don't want your money_ ," before she noticed him and stomped out towards him. He saw her mother try to stand and follow her, but her husband stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm and a quiet murmur. Clarke kept racing to the elevator, and Bellamy had to quicken his pace to catch up with her.

She entered the elevator without a word, her eyes focused on her fingers she kept twining and untangling, voluntarily avoiding his gaze, and Bellamy stood there, caught between wanting to comfort her and fearing to overstep their boundaries. He was her bodyguard, not her friend, and he'd barely just met her; he'd already made one stupid, hurtful comment about her wedding, it was probably best to shut up now. Given how upset she looked, her cheeks red and the corner of her eyes filling with tears no matter how hard she tried to hide it, it clearly meant and hurt a lot more coming from her mother than from a total stranger.

Bellamy cleared his throat. "I could, you know, keep your mother away from you until your wedding, if that's what you wanted," he offered. "Since I'm your bodyguard, and all."

Clarke's head snapped up, and for a second Bellamy was afraid he'd said the wrong thing and that she was going to cry in earnest this time. But then Clarke's eyes lit up, still watery but amused, and she let out a bubbly laugh. "Wouldn't that be some kind of conflict of interest?" she asked weakly, as she delicately wiped her tears, careful not to smear her make-up. "Since she's the one paying you."

Bellamy chuckled, and it made her smile. "I didn't think this through," he admitted with a shrug. "But I'll do it, if you ask me to."

He said it playfully, but Bellamy could see Clarke was touched by it. The elevator doors opened, and this time she didn't run; instead she walked very slowly, smile still on, until they reached her room. She gave him some painkillers, made him promise he would take them, wished him a goodnight and closed the door on his face before he could say anything.

Yeah, Clarke Griffin was _something_ , all right.

* * *

When Bellamy woke up, he instantly realized something was wrong.

The sun that filtered through the curtains was too bright; he felt loopy and a little disoriented; and he had three missed calls from his sister. It was also past ten, and Bellamy had stopped sleeping in that late around the time Octavia was born. Sitting up, Bellamy ran a hand through his disheveled curls, and grabbed for the glass of water on his nightstand. His mouth felt awfully dry, and since Octavia was probably going to yell at him he'd need it to defend himself. It was only after he'd blinked his lashes a couple of times that it dawned on him exactly where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing.

Reaching out for his clothes, he hopped on over to the passage door between his and Clarke's rooms as he pulled up his pants. "Clarke?" he called out, knocking on the door once, twice, three times with no answer from her. The other room was completely silent. "Fuck, fuck it," he swore under his breath, and leaned his forehead against the wood.

His phone rang then, and Bellamy braced himself for Octavia's screaming; he let out a relieved breath when he realized it was his brother-in-law. "Hey, man, I'm glad it's you," Bellamy started. "I fucked up, she's -"

"She's down at the lake, I've got an eye on her," Lincoln interrupted him. "What happened to you?" he then asked, concerned. "We're lucky Fox saw her leaving without you, and called Octavia to warn her."

Bellamy sighed, and tilted his head to the side to hold his phone against his shoulder as he buttoned his shirt. "I don't know, I didn't hear my alarm, nor Octavia's calls, apparently. I'll be there in five."

Lincoln hung up, and Bellamy hurried up. He took the stairs and ran down to the reception, quickly thanked Fox and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before taking off to the hotel's huge backyard. It was more of a park than a garden, but everything was very neat; trees perfectly aligned, tons of flower bushes, a huge fountain in the middle of the alley that led to the lake. He could easily spot Lincoln among the clients taking their breakfast in the sun; he was dressed as a waiter, and serving drinks. "I owe you, man," Bellamy murmured as he passed him by.

It wasn't hard to find Clarke, either. She was sitting by the lake, her legs dangling in the water, and a sketchbook and a piece of charcoal on her lap. She had a serious, concentrated look on her face, and didn't hear him coming nearer until he was standing just a few feet away from her and said, "So there you are."

She lifted her head up, and her eyes widened in surprise; to see him there, or that he had found her, Bellamy didn't know. "Oh, Bellamy," she said softly, "I didn't -"

"Think I'd find you?" Bellamy finished her sentence for her, annoyed. He only had seven days left, and he couldn't afford wasting time chasing after her.

"Oh, no," Clarke shook her head, "it's just that I knocked on your door this morning and you didn't answer, so I thought you needed your sleep. Sometimes painkillers can -"

Bellamy held up his hand. "Wait, don't tell me you did what I think you did," he said lowly, biting on his lip to stop himself from speaking any louder. "Don't tell me you gave me painkillers, knowing perfectly well that they'd knock me out for a whole, so you could get away?"

To her credit, Clarke didn't even try to pretend anymore. "You needed them, and I needed five minutes to myself," she let out with a heavy sigh, as she put her sketchbook down. "Nobody murdered me, and your face isn't sore anymore, is it?" she asked, almost cheekily.

"No, but that's not -"

"That's _exactly_ the point," Clarke cut him in. "I might have told you to take a couple when one would have been enough. What's the big deal? I'm fine, and you found me anyway. No one got hurt, we're fine. Loosen up a little, for God's sake."

Bellamy had to remind himself that he had to seduce her and be charming, because all he really wanted to do right now was scream in a pillow or something; Clarke's hot and cold little game was driving him crazy. Yelling at her wouldn't do any good, though, so with a sigh, Bellamy kicked his shoes off and bent down to roll the legs of his pants above his knees, and then dropped down to sit with her. Not right beside her, but with a reasonable distance between them.

Clarke eyed him suspiciously for a minute but Bellamy didn't say a word, until eventually she picked her sketchbook and started drawing again. Bellamy sent a quick text to Octavia, and leaned back on his hands, trying very hard not to stare at Clarke. It was a herculean effort; the way the morning light gleamed in her golden hair, the skin revealed by the way she'd hiked up her dress, how her fingers danced over the papers, made for a compelling show he couldn't keep his eyes off of.

"I used to love it here when I was a kid," she spoke after a moment, so soft, so quiet, that Bellamy wasn't sure if she was really talking to him or to herself. "Our parents were always in there, giving some speech or attending a ceremony, so Wells and I played out here. That drove our nannies crazy." She was still drawing, and her lips twitched up in a small smile. "I remember once, when we were seven or eight, we jumped in the lake. My mom was so mad. She'd dressed me in that little lacy white dress, and she'd spent forever doing my hair...God, she was so mad," Clarke finished, full grin gracing her lips now.

The visual of a tiny, wild and loud Clarke running around wasn't so difficult to conjure, considering how she drove him up the wall. It reminded him fondly of a young Octavia, who had only grown louder and wilder. "So you've known your fiancé since you were kids?" Bellamy asked, just as soft, trying not to break the spell.

Clarke nodded her head, but still didn't look up. She'd put her piece of charcoal down, and was working on her shadows by brushing her fingers on the paper. "We were inseparable, growing up. He's a month older than me, and he always said that gave him responsibility over me. He was like the big brother I never had."

"Must be nice, falling in love with your childhood best friend," Bellamy noted. But when Clarke didn't answer, and her fingers froze over her sketchbook, he realized he'd said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't -"

"No, it's okay," Clarke reassured him, though never meeting his eye. She kept her head down, and after a moment she resumed drawing.

Bellamy unabashedly studied her now, but Clarke was good at ignoring it, or didn't care, because not once did she lift her head. She worried her lip between her teeth, sighed a lot, and brushed her hair away from her face, painting her skin with black streaks without giving a care in the world. She fascinated him - one moment she could be so open, and the next building walls so high around herself; sugar and spice and everything nice and all of a sudden crazy and wild. It was hard to reconcile the idea of Clarke Griffin, good girl with designer clothes and bright smile who was about to marry Mister Perfect, to the woman who'd whispered seductively in his ear that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

Which had been a _lie_ , Bellamy knew it.

They sat there for a while, and the awkward silence progressively turned companionable again. Bellamy had never really been used to the quiet, not with Octavia being a firecracker, but it was nice; it was the same kind of silence he could share with Miller when they hang out, no words needed. It allowed Bellamy to reflect on what had happened; the evident stiffness when his comment had gotten more personal, how Clarke spoke of Wells more like a friend than a lover. She could be shy - Bellamy would never doubt Lincoln's love for Octavia, and yet Lincoln wasn't much of a talker - but he didn't feel that vibe from her. For a woman who was going to marry the love of her life in a week, Clarke didn't look particularly giddy or excited or enamored. He still didn't feel like what he was doing was right. Clarke seemed to be organizing this wedding on her own, supervising everything without the one person she was doing this _for_ , and with the shadow of her mother and whatever had happened between the two of them - _anybody_ would be stressed and less than overjoyed in a situation like this.

It wasn't until her phone rang, blasting Taylor Swift, that Clarke finally looked up, and swore loudly. " _Fuck_ , I totally forgot -" she mumbled, before answering the call, "Monty, I'm so sorry, I lost track of time -"

She sprang out to her feet, narrowly dropping her sketchbook in the lake if it weren't for Bellamy's fast reflexes. She thanked him with a nod of her head and started for the hotel, forgetting her shoes behind her. "Clarke!" Bellamy called out, jogging after her, "wait, stop -"

She kept speaking in her phone. "I'll be right there, I'm so sorry," she said in a hurried voice, before turning to him, golden curls twirling around her face. "What?" she asked shortly, and then her eyes widened when she saw Bellamy clutching to her sketchbook, her sandals dangling from his fingers. "Oh God," she sighed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Bellamy shrugged. "You're just a little _tense_ , aren't you?" he added with a chuckle.

"You don't say," Clarke snorted, grabbing his bicep and leaning on him as she tied the straps of her sandals. "I'm having lunch with my friend Monty, and then we have the cake tasting, and it's already noon. When did that happen?"

Bellamy simply offered her another shrug, and Clarke rolled her eyes, good-natured this time. She tugged him behind her by his sleeve, telling him how she didn't want to make Monty wait any longer, and Bellamy grinned at the black streak on her temple all the way to the restaurant.

She ran to hug a kind-faced, smiling boy, who didn't seem to mind her dirty hands and face as he hugged her back just as fiercely. They sat down at a table, Clarke wiping her hands on a pristine white towel with a giggle, and Bellamy stood at the entrance, trying to look tough and intimidating. It wasn't of much use though because the restaurant was empty save for Clarke and her friend; Bellamy wondered if it'd been booked just for them, which wouldn't surprise him considering Clarke Griffin was the closest thing to royalty in town. The chef herself accompanied the waiter when they were served their food to talk to and shake hands with Clarke.

He watched her talk animatedly with her friend, who was mostly quiet but smiled at her all the time; not once did Bellamy hear her mention the wedding - she asked Monty about his new job, showed him her sketchbook, and they talked about everything _but_ the event that was taking place a week later. Bellamy remembered when Octavia had first told him she and Lincoln were getting married; it'd been _all_ she talked about for months. The Jaha-Griffin wedding seemed almost rushed: the groom wasn't even there to organize anything with his bride, and they'd left things like choosing the cake to the last minute despite being engaged for _six months_. The whole thing was just weird.

He might not know Clarke intimately, but she didn't strike him as the kind of woman who'd dreamed about getting married in some fancy hotel since she was a little girl. She was too free-spirited, too rebellious; was it the reason why her relationship with her mother seemed so strained? It made no sense to Bellamy, particularly now that it looked like Abby didn't want that kind of life for her daughter. He was usually good at reading people, but it was an almost impossible task with these two. There was a piece of the puzzle he was missing, and without it Bellamy didn't know how to breach these walls Clarke had built around her.

They finished their lunch and the table was cleared, and then covered by a dozen different cake slices, each even more _cliché_ than the next: lilac topping, purple sugar flowers, rows of sugar pearls... Even Monty frowned, hesitantly forking a piece of a rich purple-looking cake in his mouth. "I - I'm not sure what this is," Bellamy heard him say, "but I don't ever want to taste it again."

Clarke reached for the little note card in the plate. "It's blackberry and bergamot, with tangerine topping," she read, sounding a little unconvinced. "Thelonius' first choice, apparently. It can't be that bad, though?" she tried, hopeful.

Monty grimaced. "Are you sure Wells' dad is not trying to _poison_ you?"

Clarke sighed, and pushed the plate aside without even tasting it. "Bye bye, blackberry, then."

And after blackberry, it was mango, strawberry and butter cream that Clarke and Monty voted off, up to the point where they'd eliminated all of them and didn't pick any. The chef came back to ask if everything was all right, and Bellamy saw Clarke playing nervously with her fingers, unable to tell her she wasn't thrilled about them. "They're all very... _special_ ," Monty offered kindly.

"That's what we aimed for," the chef replied enthusiastically. "Mayor Jaha did tell us he wanted something very unique."

"That's what they are for sure," Clarke nodded, never meeting Monty's eyes that Bellamy could clearly see mouthing _poison_ again. Clarke's cheeks were flushing nevertheless, and he saw her kicking Monty's leg under the table.

Bellamy didn't realize he'd started towards them until he was standing beside Clarke and she was looking up at him with that confused look on her face. Recovering quickly, he said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you're going to be late for your appointment. You _know_ , at the hair salon."

Clarke frowned, and opened her mouth - and that was when she understood, and nodded. "Oh, yeah, my appointment." She turned to Monty. "You know, my appointment. For my hair," she insisted, gesturing wildly at her blond curls. Monty just shrugged. She turned to the chef, this time, and gave her an apologetic smile. "Would you mind if I took a moment to think about the cakes, please?" she asked, ever polite and well-mannered. "It's just so hard to pick one."

"Not at all, miss Griffin," the other woman replied with a smile. "We'd be happy to make you try out new ones, if you'd like, too. Just let us know."

Clarke smiled back, and Bellamy suppressed a snicker at the face her friend made, half-disgust, half-horror. Clarke tried to glare at him, but started laughing as soon as the chef had gone back to the kitchen. "You traitor," she said affectionately to Monty, before turning to Bellamy. "Thank you. I owe you one."

Bellamy grinned. "You just looked like you could use some help."

"And some anti-poison," Monty added in a murmur, narrowly dodging a light punch Clarke aimed at his shoulder as the three of them walked out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby. "Hey!" Monty whined. "I've lost all my taste buds because of you. Be nice."

"Don't remind me," Clarke let out with an aggravated sigh. "Where am I supposed to find another cook with some sense and taste, and who's not been brainwashed by Thelonius?"

Bellamy's face lit up at her words. "I think I might just know."

* * *

Bellamy was breaking every rule in his book, but helping Clarke out would get him in her good books - and seven _days_ away from her wedding, Bellamy could really use it.

"I know this place," Clarke murmured as they neared Miller's coffee shop.

Bellamy's brow raised in surprise. He couldn't imagine Clarke Griffin hanging around here, or in a place like _Trikru_ ; but at the same time, he could _totally_ imagine her hanging around here. His best friend's coffee shop was the kind of place where young hipsters would write their first novels on napkins, or something; _of course_ Clarke Griffin, artist extraordinaire, would fit in there. "It's pretty cool, and Miller's got the best cupcakes in town," Bellamy bragged loudly as he pushed the front door open and the three of them came in.

Miller was at the counter, grinning at him. "Aw, you're gonna make me blush, man," he laughed, and the two hugged. He then turned to Clarke and Monty, an amused gleam in his eye. "So, who's the princess bride they tried to poison with ridiculously fancy but weird cake?" he asked.

Monty laughed, and Clarke rolled her eyes at him before raising her hand. "That would be me."

"Okay. You guys go sit wherever you want, and I'll bring you something to cheer you up," Miller said, charming and smooth. "You can call me Nate, by the way."

Bellamy snorted. "No one calls you Nate, dude."

"Everybody _but_ you calls me Nate," Miller replied with an eye roll. "Shut up and help me."

Clarke giggled at that, and she and Monty went to sit down in a booth while Bellamy slipped behind the counter to help Miller. "I owe you, man," Bellamy thanked him.

"Yeah, you can thank me after she tastes one of my cupcakes and falls for you," Miller murmured back, teasing. "Who's the guy?"

"Just a friend," Bellamy replied. "Fiancé's out of town."

"Ouch. What kind of guy leaves his fiancée all alone a week before their wedding? It's nice of her friend to be there for her, though," he noted.

Bellamy cocked an eyebrow at his friend's tone. "Miller."

"Bell."

Bellamy sighed, and busied himself with preparing coffee. "You can make all the heart eyes you want _after_ I'm done with this," he promised. "I'll get you his number if you want."

Miller scoffed. "As if I needed _you_ to get a guy's number, Blake. You haven't gone out on a date in _ages_."

Bellamy opened his mouth to protest, but closed it almost as instantly, because, really, there was a lot of truth in his friend's words - not that he'd admit it, but still. He tugged at Miller's beanie, pulling it over his eyes, and dipped his finger in the chocolate topping he was making and brought it to his mouth. "Jesus," Bellamy swore. "You've got to tell me how you do this."

"You wish," Miller snorted. "When I die, my recipe book goes to Octavia. Now, make yourself useful and bring them their drinks."

Bellamy did as he was told, for once, and brought the coffee tray over to where Clarke and Monty had sat, Miller following him with the cupcakes. "Okay, so for you I have one coffee with three sugars," Miller said, putting a steaming mug in front of Clarke, "and jasmine tea with cream for you," he continued, handing Monty another cup.

Clarke and Monty stared at each other, then at Bellamy, and then at Miller. "How do you know that?" Monty asked, stunned.

Miller shrugged one shoulder, smug smile twitching his lips. "It's my job to know," he said simply.

Monty looked amazed, and Clarke kept glancing between Bellamy and Miller, as if trying to figure out something. "So, you own this place, Nate?" she asked, as she reached out for a cupcake. "I feel like I've been here before, but I can't seem to remember you."

"It used to be a restaurant. I worked here as a waiter when I was in high school, and when I heard Indra was selling, I bought it and turned it into a coffee shop."

"That's great," Monty commented in an admiring tone.

Clarke nodded in agreement. And then, as she was about to bite in her cupcake, her head snapped up. "Indra, you said?"

"Yeah," Miller answered. "This place used to be named -"

" _Indra's_ ," Clarke finished for him. "That's why it felt so familiar. I used to come here a lot with my dad when I was a kid."

A sort of silence fell after Clarke spoke, not exactly heavy but not comfortable either. Monty looked down at his mug; Miller gazed at Monty in concern. Bellamy looked at Clarke, feeling that sense of helplessness when it came to her again, and she just took a bite of her cupcake. She moaned appreciatively at the taste, her tongue darting out to chase the flavor on her lips, and Miller looked up at her with a smile on his face. "So I take it you like it?" he asked smugly.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, and slung an arm over Miller's shoulders. "Humility is really attractive on you, man."

"As much as that cheap suit on you, bro," his best friend deadpanned. "So what do you think, Clarke?" he asked, smiling and charming again.

She looked at him like his cupcake was some kind of religious experience. "I think I want a thousand of these. Do you think you could do that?"

Miller's eyes widened. "Are you for real?" he asked, and when Clarke just stared back at him, he laughed nervously. "Okay, wow, you _are_ serious. _Wow_. A thousand? Like, one thousand as in nine hundred and ninety-nine plus one, or this is just a figure of speech?"

"Well, there will be over three hundred guests, so that sounds about right," Clarke shrugged like it made perfect sense. "I'll arrange for you to have as many commis chefs as you need. I'll talk with Keenan at the Polis, she's the head of the kitchen department. It shouldn't be a problem for you to use their kitchen and team for a day."

Miller was still looking at her like this was all a dream. "She's for real, Bell," he echoed, eyes still wide and bright.

Bellamy grinned, and his eyes locked with Clarke's. She was smiling, too, but then she gave him the slightest nod of her head; something that looked like approval and gratitude, and the tiniest bit of surprise. As if she didn't expect him to be of any help, he who was nothing but a nuisance imposed on her by her mother. She grabbed another cupcake, Monty following her lead, and Bellamy took his phone from his pocket and sent a text to his sister under the table.

 _She likes me. We can start Phase 2._

* * *

 _to be continued_


End file.
